The lips that taste od cigarettes and dreams,
Made me hold your fragile heart and wish to never let go.
The taste of coffee once aroused my senses, but not as much as the taste of your neck on my lips.
I've easily become weak for your hands, and how much there is left for them to discover.
Mine patiently wait,
while you go over each image I procure with my words.
The modesty of your movement somehow turns me into a timid lover, whom I've never been before.
But from now on, your hands will beg to be glued onto mine, and your teeth will want nothing more than the bottom lip of mine.
With this path, you will send chills down my spine, and make me want to kiss every part of your body I am yet to discover.
And the blush will be there again,
imagining my lips tattooed onto your cheeks,
As I wait for more of the warmth yours give,
the burns your touch leaves,
And the passion your eyes mean.
I will always want more as long as you let me be yours,
and as long as you want to be mine.
Only mine.
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